


Dragoons Don't Retire

by Sforzie



Series: Three Kings and the Hellsguard Hare [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Beards (Relationships), Best Friends, Dragoons, Elezen (Final Fantasy XIV), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ishgard (Final Fantasy XIV), Marriage of Convenience, Marry Your Best Friend, Not a Warrior of Light, Other, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Well-adjusted Disaster Gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sforzie/pseuds/Sforzie
Summary: A collection of snippets following various points in the life of one Ser Orage de Mondblum, a Knight Dragoon of Ishgard. Set in the times before he became the babysitter for the Warrior of Light inThe Hellsguard Hare.
Series: Three Kings and the Hellsguard Hare [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985158
Kudos: 7





	1. Dragoons Don't Retire

**Author's Note:**

> Timeframe: During 2.4, just after the WoL first meets Ser Aymeric (and Lucia) at Camp Dragonhead.

“Lord Mondblum?” The chirurgeon’s voice called from the doorway to his room in the infirmary ward. “Ser Orage, do you feel fit to take a visitor?”

Orage remained cast on the uncomfortable infirmary bed, arm thrown over his eyes. He grunted softly in response.

Out in the hallway, a polite voice said: “It’s quite alright if he is still resting. I do not wish to disturb him.”

Orage cursed under his breath and scrambled to sit up. He called: “It’s alright, I’m awake!”, and hoped he did not look too much of a mess.

After a moment’s pause, the doors creaked the rest of the way open and admitted the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. Ser Aymeric looked as handsome and well kept as ever, and the elder knight could not help but envy the freshness in his step.

“Ser Orage, I am glad to see that you are doing better.” Ser Aymeric offered a polite bow before continuing to speak. “I am sorry for your loss. Mandelaine was one of our best archers.”

“Aye, sir,” Orage said. “Thank you, sir. She was a good wife. And my best friend.” At the Lord Commander’s pitying expression, he cleared his throat. “But, we knew that this might happen one day. ‘Twas why we tried never to go into the field at the same time. Wouldn’t want to lose both of us when the boys were younger. They’ll be alright now; their aunt has been taking care of them.”

“How are the boys, then?”

“Good, good.” Orage shifted his weight, hoping the younger man did not notice his grimace of discomfort as pain shot down his left leg. “They grew so fast you’d think you could hear their bones breaking. But, they’re tended to. One will be beginning his training with the chirurgeons in the spring, and the other has already had his squireship approved through Ser Handeloup.”

“Yes, I thought I saw his name on last week’s recruitment papers. An archer, yes?”

Orage forced a smile. “Aye, sir. Just like his mother.”

Ser Aymeric nodded. For a moment he paused, half turning to look toward the door, fingers curled to scratch at his bare chin. It made Orage feel self conscious. He knew he needed a shave quite badly. Looking in the mirror made him feel old, as his facial hair had started to grow in more silver than blue. He hated the reminder of his fading youth.

“You know,” the Lord Commander said, hesitation in his voice. “It would be a pity to lose another of your order so soon, as so few remain. But, there is no shame in considering retirement. Especially considering your current condition and… recent loss.”

“Dragoons don’t retire, Lord Commander. We die with our lances in hand and blood in our eyes.”

“Of course. And we are grateful that Halone has seen fit to keep you with the Order some thirty summers now. However, your injuries during the attack were quite severe.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Orage said, terse. Ser Aymeric smiled politely at him.

“Of course not, Ser Orage.” He took on an idle tone, pale eyes glancing down to the bandages binding the dragoon’s left leg. “You’ll be returning to service soon, then, I take it?”

He frowned. “Lord Commander, I can scarcely walk without a crutch.” Orage looked at the floor. “It will take me a few more days, at least.”

Ser Aymeric chuckled. “Ever the dragoon. I’m sure Ser Estinien would be pleased with your tenacity.”

“If he were around,” Orage said. The younger Elezen sighed.

“Aye, if he were around.” Ser Aymeric pursed his lips for a moment. “At the very least, it is within my purview as Lord Commander, acting in your commander’s stead with his perpetual absence, to grant you a leave of duty, for as long as you need to recuperate. Both physically and otherwise.”

“That’s…” Orage hesitated. He did not want any pity, not from Ser Aymeric or anyone else. “Very kind of you, Ser Aymeric.”

The younger man lowered his voice. “If you would not feel comfortable accepting it from your senior officer, then consider it a generosity from a friend. You have always been very kind to me, Ser Orage, and I would see that kindness repaid.”

Orage huffed softly. “Our houses have always been allies, Ser Aymeric. There is no need to foster more goodwill.”

“All the same. Take your time.”

The dragoon squinted up at the Lord Commander. “You have grown up into a good man, Aymeric. I am glad, and I know Mande was glad for it as well. We worried you were always going to be that awkward hip-high brat who could barely handle stringing a bow.”

Ser Aymeric smiled. “Ser Mandelaine was a patient teacher. She might be granted sainthood just for putting up with me.”

“Indeed.” Orage scratched at the hair on his chin. “You need to hurry up and find yourself a wife, Ser Aymeric. Get all that business out of the way before you get to an awkward age.”

“Ah.” He glanced back to the door and leaned in, voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “To be honest, I have met someone.”

Orage’s blue brows rose. “Is that so?”

“Aye.” The Lord Commander smiled to himself. “Just yesterday, in fact, while I was tending to business out at Camp Dragonhead.”

“With the Fortemps, eh? Is she pretty enough?”

Ser Aymeric looked toward the window now, but the smile lingered on his lips. “Like a gem.”

The old dragoon made an exaggerated noise of consideration. “You’re the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, Ser Aymeric. Is she worthy enough for a man like you?”

The Lord Commander blinked. Orage heard a wistful sigh escape the young man. “Oh, I can only hope that I’m worthy enough for _her_.”

Orage chuckled. “Good luck with that, sir.” He flopped back onto the understuffed pillow and threw his arm over his eyes once more.

“Take care, Ser Orage.”

“Aye. Thank you, sir.”


	2. Two Drink Limit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeframe: 24 years before _Heavensward_.

“Hey, Orry, what’s wrong? You’re lookin’ bluer than usual.” He felt a gentle tug on his ponytail, and then a woman deposited herself into the seat next to his. “Hells, is that your third tankard? You’re going to have to let me catch up.”

Orage de Mondblum sighed and looked at the woman. She was a petite thing with strong arms, wearing the Temple Knights’ training uniform. Her cropped hair was currently dyed something resembling rolanberry red, an issue that he knew the Lord Commander didn’t approve of, but personally Orage believed that as long as she could shoot a dragon in the eye her hair color didn’t matter.

Nor did who they slept with.

“Sorry, Mande.”

“What’s the matter, love? Your whole squad came back in one piece this time. You should be celebrating!”

“Well, that’s what I had planned.” He gestured at a half-crumpled missive on the table. “But then I received word from my father that my brother perished at one of the northern outposts. Dragon attack.”

“Oh. That’s shit, Orry. Was it Nerimbert?”

“What? No, it was Cal. Nerimbert’s been dead over a year, now.”

Mandelaine’s nose wrinkled. She took a gulp from her tankard and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s right. You all look the same, sorry. Still shit.”

“I know. Father’s upset because he has to find someone for me to marry, now.”

She had raised the tankard again and coughed into the ale. “What? How’s he supposed to find a Lord who’d put his daughter up for a thirdson who sucks dick and exists only to go on suicide missions?”

“Thank you for that glowing review of my person, Mande.” Orage grimaced and picked up his tankard. “I’m finding it increasingly difficult to even find a one night stand in Ishgard. Does _everyone_ in this damned city know I’m on the Congregation’s death pool?”

“Knights do like to gossip,” she said. Mandelaine gestured grandly before waving at the bar for another tankard. “And I should know, for I am Ser Mandelaine de Haillenarte, fuckin’... fourteenth or so bow of the Temple Knights.”

“Better than still being a squire.”

“Aye, aye.” She sighed. “Well, I am sincerely sorry for your loss, Orry. And equally sorry that it leaves you last man standing in the family.”

“Thank you, Mande.” Orage rolled his right shoulder, and the joint popped loudly. She giggled and bumped her shoulder against his.

“Wish I could do that. Would get me under so many skirts.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” he said. “Just miss your landing jumping from a few dozen yalms up, blow your shoulder, and enjoy the funny clicking noise it makes during certain maneuvers until your inevitable painful death by dragonfire.”

“I don’t know, Orry, that sounds like a lot of work.” She pouted cutely. “I just wanted to reap the sexy benefits.”

“Apologies for crushing yet another one of your sexy dreams.”

They drank in silence. Orage was considering getting a fourth tankard, when his companion jerked bodily in her seat, as though she’d been pierced in the bottom by one of her own arrows.

“Oh, I’ve a brilliant idea!” She swatted him roughly on the arm. “Listen, Orry, listen!”

“Go on, Mande.”

She leaned in and lowered his voice to an excited yet conspiratorial level. “You should marry me!”

“I--what?” He reached for her nearly empty tankard. “I said you couldn’t handle three, Mande.”

The archer swatted his hand away. “No, no, hear me out! This way, you don’t have to go marrying some stranger, and I don’t have to either! _And_ , neither of us will have to worry about pretending to want to have sex with each other.” She elbowed him. “And-and, Count Mondblum should _love_ the chance to have a connection with one of the high houses, even if it’s with some nobody.”

He stared down at her. She had valid points, but-- “Mandelaine, two drinks is your new limit. Three is making you stupid.”

She pouted. “I thought it was a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea, but my family has already been supporters of House Haillenarte for generations. You _know_ that, Mande. I’ve known you since you were _four_.”

“That’s right,” she said, staring dreamily at him. “Your mother was hotter than dragonfire, Orry.”

“And she still is, if you consult my father.” He swatted her arm, and she giggled. “You’re forgetting that part of the point of a marriage is to produce an issue. You know, continue the line. We would have to fuck.”

“Ew.” 

They looked at each other and grimaced. Then they burst into laughter.

“No offense, Orry, I love you, but not like that.” Mande retrieved her drink and took a gulp. “But, I mean, if we’re drunk enough we could probably manage? And it only has to work, like, once. Right?”

“Assuming we get lucky and have a boy the first time, yes.”

She pressed her face into her palm. “Fury’s tits, maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all.”


End file.
